Irish Wake
by Jaycie Victory
Summary: Two seasoned warriors drown their sorrows in a bar after fighting the Apocalypse. It turns out to be the most important drink they'll ever have. Bangel one-shot. Rated T for one use of bad language. Post both series. Follows canon.


A/N Man, I love Bangel. Yet somehow this is the first Bangel fic I've written. It came from a Tumblr prompt, and I'm always open to taking more :) For any of my otps. Or maybe even having a go at ones that aren't part of otp list. You can find me on Tumblr under jayciethings.

Not sure how many people are still reading Bangel fanfic, but if you are and you read this, really hope you enjoy.

Let me know what you think :)

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Irish Wake

There were only two customers in the dimly lit bar.

Actually, three, but only two of them were fully conscious.

The third was currently crashed out in the corner, making faint moaning noises.

Jace, the bar's owner, had seen some pretty insane shit the last few days, even by L.A.'s standards. The goddamn sky cracking open; terrible, terrifying creatures raining down; maiming, killing, eating…

After seeing all that, watching an itty-bitty slip of a girl lay out a crim twice her height and three times her weight was pretty small-fry.

He'd expected trouble when Royce got a little frisky with the blonde, but he'd expected it from her companion. But the big dark-haired guy had just leant on the bar throughout, alert, but seeming more amused than anything else.

Once she broke Royce's wrist, however, the rest of his gang piled on. At that point her large hulking friend had joined in.

Five minutes later, three of Jace's stools were broken, a dozen glasses were smashed, and the toughest gang in Downtown had bolted, leaving a semi-comatose Royce behind.

"You gonna pay for that damage?" Jace groused, surveying the broken stools.

The dark guy slapped some bills down on the counter. "How about you give us a bottle of Bourbon and we don't call the police about how you stood by and let a violent gang attack poor innocent customers?"

Jace snorted. "Innocent… Yeah, right."

But green was green, so he smacked down the bottle and two tumblers, and then retreated to the backroom where he could pretend to clean glasses in peace.

"Okay… so, how d'you wanna do this?"

Buffy blinked at him. "Me? This is your area."

"How is this my area? Spike's the big drinker, not me," Angel objected.

"Isn't this supposed to be one of…" She waggled a hand in the air. "Your people's traditions."

His brows drew together in bewilderment. "Vampires?"

She rolled her eyes. "Irish people! You know, the whole honour the dead with a drink thing…" Her expression faltered. "I don't know. After everything we've seen, I just know I want a whole lot of alcohol. And if we're gonna be drinking, why not use it to say thank you to them? …and goodbye."

Their eyes met. The moment held.

"Okay," he agreed softly, smiling at her in way that made the years roll back.

It helped reassure her.

He was still Angel.

"Okay," she agreed. The urge to smile back faded as she raised her glass and Angel mimicked her gesture.

"To Amanda. She loved swing music; she was shy but fierce; and she could absolutely kick Andrew's ass at Dungeons and Dragons."

"To Amanda," Angel said softy. They drank from the tumblers. "She died in the Alley Battle?"

"No," Buffy said just as quietly, peering into her glass. "She died in Sunnydale, fighting the Turok-Han. We never did this after the battle there. We should've…" Then she frowned. "You really need to come up with a cooler name than 'the Alley Battle'."

Angel looked a little defensive. "It took place in an alley," he pointed out.

Buffy scrunched her face up. "Imagine if we did that with all the battles? I would have killed you in the 'Girly Mansion Battle'. That really how you wanna go out?"

"Okay, point."

She nudged him with her shoulder. "Your turn."

He took a moment then raised his glass. "To Doyle."

She waited, but when he didn't say anything more, she copied his gesture, and they both drank.

"Tell me about him," she prompted.

"Doyle?" Angel smiled. "Now, Doyle really _was_ an Irishman… He could drink Spike under the table. He was a hustler who worked extremely hard to avoid doing an honest day's work…" His smile faded; he looked sad but proud. "He was also one of the bravest people I ever met. He went knowingly to his death to save others. He was the first person I lost here." His brows lowered, brooding. "I didn't know then what a pattern that would become."

Buffy silently refilled their glasses then raised her own once more. "To Shannon."

"To Shannon," Angel echoed.

"Shannon was from Ohio. She loved to draw. She had this big crush on Willow but never said anything because of Kennedy. She let me see her sketchbook one day, and I saw this portrait she did of Will… It was amazing. She survived being stabbed by Caleb; and she survived the Hellmouth. Then she died here after a demon snapped her neck. She was seventeen."

"I'm sorry, Buff."

"Yeah." She smiled sadly. "Lot of sorrys to go around."

He lightly squeezed her shoulder and she covered his hand with hers. They sat in companionable silence for a while before she spoke again: "You can talk about her if you want to, you know."

"Who?" he asked.

"Cordelia. Illyria told me what happened. I just wanted you to know it's okay to talk about her."

He inhaled through his nostrils then nodded, releasing her shoulder. He raised his tumbler.

"To Cordy."

"To Cordy," she agreed. Then she dropped her head slightly between her shoulders and gently slid her glass from one hand to the other along the bar.

"How come you never told us about her?"

"What do you mean?"

"How come you never told us about everything that happened with Cordelia," she clarified. "It took Fred telling Willow before we even found out she was in a coma. Let alone that she'd died in it. Why wouldn't you call and tell us? …why wouldn't you tell me?"

"It was just too painful, I guess. Too painful to talk about."

She gave him a measuring look. "Okay… That's one reason. What's the other?"

He exhaled, slow and steady. "Our lives had become separate, Buff. I'd worked hard to keep it that way. We both had. I already knew from Wolfram and Hart that Willow couldn't help with the coma, and as for the rest…"

"What? You thought we wouldn't care? That we didn't deserve to know? Cordelia was a part of us, too, you know." She sounded hurt.

He shook his head. "Not like the way she was here. She was part of your gang… she was more than that to us." He looked indescribably sad.

"Because you loved her," her voice was soft.

"She was family," he replied.

One of Buffy's eyebrows shot up. "Like kissing cousins?"

He shifted a little guiltily. "Someone's been telling tales."

Buffy shrugged, looking slightly mischievous. "Illyria has access to all of Fred's memories without any of those pesky human qualms about spilling them getting in the way." When she saw Angel was still looking uncomfortable, she laid a hand on his arm. "Angel – it's okay. You had feelings for her. That's allowed. And it's not like I'm really in a position to criticise here."

"My feelings for Cordy…" He trailed off, and then tried again. "They were complicated. She was the light, you know? The glue. She held us all together. I needed her. To keep going. To be a Champion. To fight the good fight – I needed her." Despite her previous protestation, Buffy looked a little pained. "And… yeah, I wanted her, too. How could I not? She was one of the best people I knew." He surveyed the contents of his glass, eyes far away. "I… I don't know exactly how to explain my feelings for her; I just know she was in my heart." He looked at her significantly.

"Touché." Buffy smiled, a little wryly. Then her smile turned warmer. "I'm glad that you had her. I'm glad that you had each other."

Once upon a time jealousy had been one of their relationship's defining characteristics. He'd always taken it as a sign they still cared. Him over Riley. Buffy over Faith…

But somewhere along the way that had changed. Somewhere along the way he'd realised all that really mattered to him was that she was happy.

Guess that's what people called growing up… and it had only taken two hundred and fifty plus years to get there. Buffy had got there in under twenty-five.

Possibly he should be embarrassed about that.

He smiled proudly at her. Proud of the woman she'd become, even if he hadn't been able to be there for a chunk of it.

"Your turn." He mimicked her earlier gesture, nudging her shoulder.

She exhaled, just short of a sigh then raised her glass in a salute. "To Anya."

Angel followed suit, but then looked a little hesitant. "I never really knew her, either. What was she like?"

"Anya?" Buffy seemed amused. "Anya was one of a kind. We weren't amazingly close, but she kind of grows on you, like a Chia pet, and before you know it, you don't really know how to get along without her… She was totally blunt. Absolutely no filter. I mean, she made Cordelia look tactful... But if she decided you were worth it, she was a hundred per cent loyal. Kinda like Spike, I guess…" She turned to him. "You know they actually hooked up one time?"

Angel pulled a "no kidding?" face then frowned a little. "You ever think our two groups are a little incestuous?"

Buffy snorted into her glass. "What makes you say that? Just 'cos half of us have boinked the other half…"

"I was going to put it more elegantly than that but… yeah." They clinked their glasses, chuckling. "Speaking of boinking…" Angel angled his body towards her. "How are you and Spike?"

Her nose wrinkled in appalled disgust. "Worst. Segue. Ever."

He looked at her. "You didn't get to talk yet?"

She pursed her lips and shook her head slowly. "He's kinda been avoiding me since the battle. I think he's still mad about what happened in Rome."

It was Angel's turn to purse his lips."Well, can't totally blame him for that… I didn't really enjoy seeing you lick the roof of the Immortal's mouth either…"

"I told you a thousand times – that wasn't me. It was one of my decoys. After we blew up the Hellmouth in Sunnydale, a lot of people wanted me dead. Even more than normal," she mused. "We had to do something to throw them off the scent. Setting up a few decoys round the world was a good start."

"Well, it looked pretty damn convincing," Angel muttered.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Duh – that's kind of the point of a decoy. Willow spelled them that way to make sure it was convincing."

Angel wasn't done grousing (okay: maybe he wasn't _totally_ over the jealousy thing). "Still though, you couldn't have given us a heads-up?"

One eyebrow went up. "You were doing a pretty convincing impression of evil exclamation point Angel at the time," she reminded him. "Plus, I could say the same to you, former head of Wolfram and Hart – why not give me a heads-up about what you were really up to?" She prodded him in the side, catching a still-healing rib, and he grunted, twisting away from the ticklishly painful sensation. "Oops, sorry." She widened her eyes, looking guilty.

Angel shrugged but the pain in his eyes undercut the casual gesture, a pain that wasn't just physical. "You'd already made it clear you didn't trust me. I figured I was on my own. And… I felt like this was my fight. Like you did, in Sunnydale." He met her gaze then. "Why did you come? You thought I was evil – what made you change your mind?"

Her answer was the last one he expected.

"Gunn." Angel blinked. "Sasha – one of his old crew – responded to the Slayer call when Willow cast the Potentials spell. Sasha runs with Vi's squad in Chicago now. Gunn and her had stayed in touch, so when he asked, Sasha put him in contact with me a few days ago. He told me what you were up to with the Black Thorn Circle." She smirked. "It was so noble and stupidly martyrish, I knew you had to be you. Angelus was never that dumb."

Angel smiled, a little bemused. "Thanks…"

"You're welcome," she chirped. Then her voice turned soft. "I liked Gunn. How's he doing?"

Some of the pain smoothed out of Angel's face, making her smile a little in turn. "He lost a lot of blood, but the doctors are cautiously optimistic. If Willow hadn't shown up and cast that stasis spell, I never would have got him to the hospital in time… By the way, when did she become insanely terrifying?"

"Few years back," Buffy said non-chalantly. "Turned evil and nearly destroyed the world."

"Oh." They side-eyed one another. "Well, can't really throw stones about that one…" He tapped his upper lip thoughtfully. "I should probably get her some kind of thank-you gift…"

Buffy thought for a moment. "She likes bath salts," she offered.

He nodded gratefully.

They took another swig from their Bourbons.

"I'm sorry about Wesley," Buffy spoke into the comfortable silence.

His shoulders moved in a micro-shrug. "It's not your fault. He died before you even arrived in L.A.."

"Yeah, but… if we'd gotten word to you, arrived a little sooner, you wouldn't have…" She trailed off.

"Put him in that position?" Angel finished.

She grimaced. "Angel, it's not your fault. From what Illyria told me, he thought he had stuff to atone for. You of all people should get why he felt he had to fight. He knew the risks. It was his choice."

He met her gaze levelly. "That how you feel when one of your girls dies?"

She bit her lip. "Okay, point… So maybe we both take on more responsibility than we should…"

He snorted. "Maybe."

There was another pause as Buffy considered whether or not to bring something up.

"So, lllyria's interesting."

A muscle in Angel's jaw clenched.

"I don't really know her. The only person she ever really bonded with was Wes… I guess because of Fred's influence."

It gave her the opening she was looking for.

"She was really important to you." It was a statement, not a question.

He nodded but didn't meet her gaze. "It was my job to save her. And I failed." Now he looked up. "I chose the world instead."

Buffy flinched from the look in his eyes. It was all too familiar; she'd seen it in the mirror for months when she was seventeen.

"Angel… Remember when I stabbed you with the sword?"

He smiled faintly. "It rings a bell or two."

Her returning smile was just as wan. "It was you or the world. It was the hardest choice I ever had to make. But I made it."

He spoke warmly, instinctively. "You did the right thing."

Her smile became a little more genuine. "See, I can tell you really mean that. You don't blame me for what I did. You don't think I had another option. Wouldn't Fred feel the same way?"

He stared at her.

She raised her glass. "To Fred and Wes."

He jerked his glass upwards; his voice was barely audible. "To Fred and Wes."

Buffy cast around for a change of subject. Something happy…

"Was Spike peeved you were the one who got to shanshu?"

What? Annoying Spike was Angel's idea of happy.

Same the other way around, actually.

Angel half-smiled, half-grimaced. "The first thing he did was punch me in the face."

She looked a little troubled. "He was that upset?"

Angel shook his head. "Nope. Said he wanted me to experience a proper vamp punch now I was all 'weedy and human' again. He was especially gleeful at the idea of me balding and turning grey. Of course that was before he found out about the extras…"

"Ah yes…" She ran a fingertip round her glass's edge. "'Power akin though short of the Slayer's.' What exactly does that mean?"

"It means I broke his nose when I punched him back." He touched a finger to the yellowed flesh round his left eye. "It means this will only take a day to fully heal, rather than a week." He met her gaze. "It means I will live and die a human's life but retain most of my vampire strength."

Slowly, tentatively, she reached out and slid her hand up his chest.

And felt the steady thud of his heartbeat.

Which meant he felt the moment she started to tremble.

Another silence fell, but it was a silence of a different kind. The air coiled with tension.

Then Buffy looked away.

Half-relieved, half-disappointed, they both downed the last of the Bourbon in their glasses. But Angel went one better and refilled his.

He looked up to see Buffy watching him with a dubious expression. "Maybe you should go a little easy there, tiger. From what you just told me, you've got a human's metabolism now – drinking on an empty stomach could lead to all kinds of badness." She gritted her teeth in a smile. "I speak from painfully embarrassing experience."

He sent her a scouring look that warmed her from the inside-out in a way that eclipsed the Bourbon.

"What would you recommend instead, Miss Summers?"

His eyes had always killed her. From the first moment they met.

Mocking and taunting.

Gentle and kind.

Capable of seeing right through her.

There'd been heat in them, too. More than once. But the heat had always been carefully controlled.

First because of her youth, later because of their curse.

She'd forgotten what it was like to see them unbound, unguarded…

She wasn't sure she'd ever seen it so fully.

Something sparked. Almost like a memory. Then it was gone again… but it left something in its wake.

A powerful craving.

"Ice-cream is always a fan favourite."

"Ah, yes." His eyes gleamed with laughter. "I've heard that."

He was noticeably closer.

She realised she was leaning forward in her stool. She made a heroic effort to recall her train of thought.

"So would you like to get some? Cookie-dough-fudge-mint-chip? On me?"

He stared at her as if she'd said something deeply profound, eyes burning with emotion so strong she almost wanted to look away. But she didn't. "What made you pick that flavour?"

She shrugged, an attempt at casual, and got to her feet. "Why waste time on the inferior? I say go straight for the good stuff."

He stood up as well. "Sounds good to me."

Oh, _God_. When did his voice get so husky?

"So we should go…. and get… ice-cream."

"Right. Ice-cream." How was he standing still yet coming closer?

"Right."

"Right."

He bent his head.

She craned her neck.

Their lips met.

And they both went up in flames.

Jace returned from the backroom, rolled his eyes in disgust, and left the increasingly passionate couple to it.

Eventually, they parted, lips buzzing, gasping for breath. (Buffy grinned, wondering if she'd ever be able to take Angel actually needing to breathe for granted. Somehow, she didn't think so.)

His hand gripped his chest; he looked shocked and elated. "It feels like it's gonna beat right out my chest!"

Buffy couldn't resist. Her eyebrow shot up. "Already? Gosh… imagine how fast we could get it going if we really tried…"

There was a pregnant pause, during which his eyes flamed so hot, she thought she might combust on the spot.

Then with a visible effort, he leaned back a little and spoke levelly. "The only thing is… the cookies in that ice-cream, I hear they're not done baking." He peered down at her through unfairly long lashes, hopeful but anxious.

She smiled back, wide and free, and began to lead him from the bar.

"Everyone knows cookies taste best half-baked."

 _fin_


End file.
